A/N: Longclaw: Hey guys. This came out earlier than planned and we're pretty proud of that :)

Bruh: Okay, we're here again. A shorter one, I think.

Enjoy.

Chapter 50: Homecoming

For all she lamented how her brother's mind shattered, many memories lost to the abyss of time, Arya found that much of her life in the North was harder and harder to recollect. Sure, the biting chill of winter with the gentle snowfall all around her brought an innate calm and security alien to her, when trying to recollect her idyllic life here where all she needed to worry about was whether her mother would force her into needlework lessons proved more elusive to conjure. Survival, struggle, death… all matters overriding her memory. Encroaching on it, sapping it of strength and potency.

When worried about her list, it had not minded her since her path laid inexorably forward. Now though, all those dead by her hand, Jon's hand, or other causes, being back in the bosom of the North truly emphasized how much she lost. How much was never to come back.

At the sight of the twinkling lights of Winterfell in the distance, hearths, lanterns, and candles within serving as a beacon in the early winter evening's darkness, Arya Stark stiffened and exhaled. She felt relief after being away for so long. A hand on her shoulder drew her to see Gendry's smiling face, and she huffed a tiny smile back at him. "Yeh alright, Arry?"

The familiarity they shared with each other… it served as a balm. "Aye… suppose so. Just… it's hard."

"Been a while since you've been home, aye?" Sandor said, somewhat softly.

Arya looked at him, surprised to hear a less cynical Sandor for once. "Been some time," she said. "Though not as much as when we last parted."

"Always thought you'd do your deeds then stay in this place forever. Yer' more fuckin' mad than I thought." And there was the old Sandor. Profane and crass… but caring in his own way.

The young girl appreciated it. "Been through enough of what I did, you'd be a bit mad too."

"Don't have to be, anymore." Feeling Gendry press a kiss to her forehead - sweet… but also with a hint of something deeper - Arya cleared her throat slightly, turning away and continuing towards the gates. She didn't want Sandor to see her if she was blushing. She felt better to be here, and better still that Gendry was here.

All she needed was Jon to return, and her family would be complete.

Inside, the denizens of the keep were gathered in the great hall for dinner. Not a feast by any measure, the arrival of several northern lords to discuss the fall of Cersei Lannister and the three-way war for the Iron Throne having only two combatants marked something beyond the normal course of business. The stores of food were only slightly plucked, hearty beef and barely stews joined by fresh bread, roast salted pork, and plenty of ale for a good time, especially as the Umbers and Manderlys competed for who could belt out the loudest rendition of popular ditties.

"A marvelous night, mi'Lady," Sansa heard her secret lover remark next to her.

The acting Lady of Winterfell smiled back at him, resisting the urge to pick up his hand and kiss it. Not what she would rather kiss - that would need to wait till they were alone. "Mayhaps so, given the circumstances."

He caught the tinge of sorrow in her voice. "I'm sure Lady Arya will come back."

"Hopefully." Sansa sighed. At least I can get Arya back, unlike Jon. Gods, she wished she had more time to make up for an entire childhood of arrogant torment. Snickering, a thought came to her. "When she does, don't call her a lady."

"Sansa?" he whispered, confused.

His confusion made her giggle. "She hated being called that, and knows how to use a sword."

Gulping, the young knight sipped at his mug. "I'll keep that in mind… my love." Sansa swooned a bit.

Across the table, Bran sneakily eyed Podrick. They watched him and Sansa whisper things to one another. It seemed that things were going along nicely. Perfectly. They would be able to enact their plan very soon. Well, considering they could do what they needed to. It was a good enough time as ever.

They had spent much time practicing on regular Northmen and guardsmen. Grabbing hold of them came easily to them now. They could do it in their sleep, often did. Podrick was a perfect lamb to practice on. Much mentally stronger than normal folk, but not locked tight either.

The idea being, try to entangle minds with him, and take control. Once they have him, don't attract too much attention. If Sansa spoke to him, that could be an issue. Having their host speak was a difficult task. The only thing they could muster out of someone has been one or two words at most.

A guardsman came over, leaned down to say something quietly to Sansa. With the loudness of the hall, they could not hear what was said. Must've been important because she rose from her chair. Told Podrick something and left, following the guard.

Not often did they feel joy, but this was one of those occasions.

They began to focus on Podrick, who kept eating like nothing was wrong. His mind wasn't much of a fortress, with very few defenses. Gradually, they gain more and more coverage of his mind. Soon, blanketing it fully. It was like sneaking in through his ear using a draft of air. So slowly and undetectable by Podrick. The process was slow for them. But in reality, only a few minutes.

Podrick sunk his spoon into his stew and raised it up close to his mouth. Suddenly, he froze. Bran had full control of him. Snuck into his skin without anyone noticing. They felt out his body first, scrunching his toes, flexing his face. They made him put the spoon back in the bowl. His eyes have washed over white, so they forced him to squint. Truly, if anyone knew of their powers, this was a dead giveaway. Currently, they were unsure if there was a fix for that.

Now that they were inside, it became vital that they become familiar with the body. So reentry comes with ease. They moved every muscle they could think of while staying seated. In front of him, they eyed the dinner knife. As naturally as possible, they picked up the knife. Feeling the weight of it, squeezing it tight, under the table they practiced a jabbing motion.

Everything was going well.

"Podrick?" A small voice called out to them. Podrick's head twitched over to see young Rickon staring at them with a confused expression. "Are you alright?"

The worst-case scenario had arrived. Better get in some practice while they are there. "F-Fine… I'm… fine," they made Podrick reply.

Rickon didn't seem convinced, "Are you sure? You don't seem fine. You're acting strange."

"Yes, everything… is fine."

Rickon opened his mouth but then leaned over to look over Podrick's shoulder. "Sansa, you're back." The red-haired maiden returned. Surely, she would notice anything wrong with Podrick. Quickly, Bran retreated from Podrick's head.

Sansa walked over to their table, with a pleasant expression on her face, "Someone's here."

"Who?" Rickon asked.

"Arya. She's back."

"She is? Where?" Rickon shot up from her chair, excited.

"In the courtyard," Sansa told him. She directed her attention to Podrick. Whom after Bran left his mind, hung his head and trembled slightly. Sansa got down to his level, "Pod, what's wrong?"

"Uh…" Podrick groaned, shivering. "I feel ill. My… body feels… strange. My skin is cold."

Sansa put her hand on his forehead, "Pod, you're freezing. Come on, let's get you to bed." She helped him to his feet. He had to lean on her given how much his legs wobbled. They watched them leave, over her shoulder, Sansa looked at them questioningly.

Ever dutiful, Podrick tried to wave her off. "No… 'tis fine… you go meet… your sister."

But Sansa was not going to let her lover go unattended. "Brienne, can you escort him to his chambers?" If the selfless young lad she loved was going to insist on her seeing Arya - truly, she loved him all the more for it - Sansa would try the next best thing.

Her sworn sword bowed. "Aye, I shall, my Lady." Easing Podrick into her hold, Brienne began making for the inner keep. Unspoken was that he would be deposited in her chambers.

"Wolkan." The maester wasn't far. "Go with them. See that Ser Podrick is in good shape." He bowed and complied, leaving a worried Sansa to look at her brothers. Bran was… placid as usual, while Rickon seemed anxious to go see Arya. I am too. "Come on brother." He grinned and was off in a flash. Sansa found her own steps rather hurried as well.

Luckily for everyone, Arya had already been led inside when she was beset with hugs from her siblings. "Arya!" Rickon squeezed her tightly. "I'm so glad you're back!"

Never one for such mushiness, Arya didn't care and threw her arms around Rickon. "You look more like father every day," she gasped, a tear down her cheek." Looking up, her eyes met Sansa's. "Sister… I'm still not calling you Lady Stark."

Snorting, Sansa let out a chuckle before she joined the embrace. "You shouldn't have left."

"I did come back."

"That you did." Pulling back from her little sister, kissing her brow much as their mother had done to the both of them, Sansa's warm, genuine smile faltered into a hard stare as her eyes fell on the Hound. "So you brought him."

Sandor snorted. "Good to see ye' too, Little Bird." He rubbed his hands together from the cold, even inside. "Knew you were a survivor. Not like the mad cunt here," he gestured to Arya. "But one nonetheless."

"I suppose that's a compliment." She then looked at Gendry, regarding him with confusion. "And this?"

"He's… a friend," Arya hesitated, which caused Sansa to raise an eyebrow. "He saved my life after father died… then again as King's Landing blew up."

"Among other things," the Hound muttered under his breath, which Sansa caught.

Taking in the quiet, shy boy that seemed to earn Arya's favor - her sister reacting just as expected, a mix of discomfort and bashfulness - Sansa decided to broach this at a later time. She had her own romantic life as well to keep secluded till the right time. "Well, anyone that protects my family is welcome in our keep."

"Mi'Lady," the lad insisted. "I am a good smith… I can work in your forge in exchange for room and board…"

"That's not necessary, but if you insist we could always use a man of such skills." They truly needed the manpower, and Sansa wouldn't stop him if he felt dutiful enough to do so. "Come, Arya. We'll get you some food and then to bed…"

"Wait." Arya tugged on Sansa's arm. "Can I talk to you and Rickon alone?"

Blinking, Sansa nevertheless nodded. "Lead the two to their quarters… and give them food from the kitchens if they so request." Seeing the blades at Arya's hip, Sansa knew she'd be safe as the guards bowed and led the Hound and Arya's companion out. "So what do you wish to discuss?"

"Jon is alive."

Sansa felt like she was staggered, her entire body tensing at the words. What? Jon was… a sore subject ever since Bran informed her that the Dragon Queen had him killed, one she rarely brought up. Rickon though had no such compunctions. "He's alive?"

"Aye, he is."

While their brother was willing to take this at face value, his lips curling into a beaming smile, Sansa was more skeptical. "And you know this how?"

"I saw him not a few feet in front of me… twice." Arya was not backing down. "The Hound saw him too… spent some time in the Black Cells with him."

Sansa felt her head throbbing from each bit of new information. "The Black Cells? I thought Stannis was holding King's Landing."

"He was… is… whatever." Arya sighed. "They had a falling out cause of me - Stannis wanted me killed cause I killed Cersei, but Jon wouldn't so I suppose that's why he was thrown there."

"Gods… there is so much there that needs to be discussed, but Jon…" Her head was spinning. "Bran told me that the Dragon Queen killed him."

Arya shook her head. "Well he was plenty alive when I saw him… though he did tell me that death did happen." Had Arya not seen Thoros of Myr resurrect Beric with her own eyes, she wouldn't have believed even Jon about that. "Regardless of that, I think he holds no blame for the Dragon Queen."

"Are you sure you're not mistaken?" Sansa scoffed.

"He loves her." Another scoff, which caused Arya to roll her eyes. "As far as I can tell."

Rickon was trying to follow the conversation. "Dragon Queen? I heard she was very pretty."

"Men are men, I assume. Even our brother." Sansa didn't intend to be so biting in her words, more concerned than anything. "Regardless, where is he now?"

A sigh. "I don't know… he said he was gonna try to get to Daenerys Targaryen through Stannis, though the Hound knows more I suspect."

"Well… we're gonna have to get more from him." A thought came to Sansa's mind. "Why would Bran say nothing about Jon being alive?"

"Maybe he didn't know?"

"Yes… maybe…" Sansa trailed off, skepticism at that in her mind.

Thoughts divined by a set of all-seeing eyes. No, this was something they couldn't tolerate.

The days meant nothing to Tyene Martell. Sure enough, Baelor the Blessed didn't treat his sisters completely like filthy traitors, leaving them high windows for them to catch proper light during the daytime - likely how Daena the Defiant escaped, though even the lithe Martell warrior thought she'd have trouble wriggling out of it. While knowing what was day and what was night, they no longer held any significance.

She had nothing to do.

She had no contact with her family.

There was no hope. Only a choice - one that occupied her mind like a throbbing malignancy threatening to consume her completely. It felt like violation, but then Tyene remembered the other girls held captive in the bilge of Euron's flagship, how he and his crew would brutalize them.

That was true violation, so she forced herself to count her… not blessings, but petty reliefs. It was all she could hold onto not to slit her own throat.

The door to the Maidenvault was thrown open, her guards flanking it. For what reason was made clear as a tall, hobbling figure entered. The face of the Stag King himself. "Lady Sand."

"King Stannis," she said simply, watching as he sat at a table in the center of the chamber. Tyene guardedly walked and sat beside him, trying her best to look fierce and firm. She had the attitude for it, but her gaunt face and pale complexion after so long imprisoned likely dampened the effect. "I suppose you want an answer."

"I do, but first something to eat." Motioning to his guards, they guided in a trio of servants that set platters and mugs for their use. The steaming plates were filled with simple foods, a bowl of porridge, some roast pork, and a couple of carrots, but Tyene's mouth watered at the sight. Forcing herself not to tear into it, she paced herself, not wishing to get sick.

That had been a hard lesson of her youth. Obara laughed at her misfortune then and Tyene wished to skewer her head with her dagger. Now, all she wished was for Obara to be alive again. Life has its ironies.

They ate in silence for what seemed to be time immemorial. Eventually though, Stannis spoke. "You would be legitimized as a Martell, your father's house, if you choose to accept my marriage offer."

She raised a brow. "Can't have a bastard be Queen, huh?"

"It would be an affront to some of my most ardent supporters," he replied. "But there will be no tricks. You shall be my consort, or you won't." He set down his knife and fork. "Have you come to a decision?" Stannis asked her, plainly. "Either choice is fine with me."

"Yes, I suspect you get plenty of satisfaction from any woman you like," Tyene said. "You Baratheons are no different."

Stannis narrowed his eyes, "Do not claim to try to sully my honor by comparing me to my drunkard brother."

"Can you blame me? Truly?" Tyene half-laughed, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Given all I've suffered from a woman that wore a crown." She pointed to the gold Baratheon crown resting on Stannis' head. "Just like that."

"That was a different person," Stannis replied. "Not me. I have honor. I'm giving you a choice. Cersei would have already killed you. Euron could've done worse, then killed you."

Hearing Greyjoy's name made Tyene growl, "He did do worse."

"Well, as my Queen you certainly wouldn't have to worry about him ever again," Stannis said. "I might even give you a chance for revenge. I don't much care for the man. But as my prisoner… Well, I can't speak to what could happen then."

"He deserves to die!"

"Aye, he does. You could be the one to take him," Stannis said. "I'd give that to you. A gift."

Tyene crossed her arms, looking away. She paused. Honestly, she hadn't given the choice a real thought. Her mind had immediately gone to refusal. Allowing herself to think for a moment, there were a few positives. Yet, also there were a few negatives. Having to carry a child for him, most likely. Was a definite negative. However, she wouldn't get a chance to slit Euron's throat and watch the life vacate his eyes in a cell.

Stannis moved away from the door, slightly closer to her. "I could give you many things, as my wife. Would you like that? Your life can be as you want. You can have anything you want. Would you like that?"

"Don't act like I don't have to give anything up in return."

"But you don't. You mustn't lose anything. You have nothing to lose. I have no need to take anything from you. I already have everything. Everything but a fine wife," Stannis said, lowering his voice. He leaned closer to her across the table. "My previous wife couldn't hold a candle to your beauty."

Noticing a slight lust in his eyes, Tyene tried not to scowl. "Nothing is free. Stop acting like it's free."

Stannis huffed slightly. "You only need to give birth to my child. That's all I require from you."

She had already known that. She just wanted to hear him say it for sure. "I see."

Stannis rose to his feet, "As all wives do. Your duty. But other than that you may live your life as you want. As long as you don't impede me and act as my ally when such is needed. That's it."

"I understand."

"Do you have a decision?"

"Must truly think on it."

"Yes, do that. I'll give you one more day. After that, I must know if I have a wife."

"What if you don't?" She asked, curious what he'd say.

Stannis frowned, "Well, I'd find another. But if your question regards you, I'd send another raven to Arianne. Most likely I'd tell her you're my prisoner until you die. I have you taken to the black cells to live out your days. You'd never see the sun again. You'd shrivel and die in the darkness. I could kill you but then Arianne would bring her armies to Westeros. I don't want that to happen. So, to the cells, you'd go, forever."

"So, be your wife, carry your child. Or, refuse, and I rot in the black cells."

"Aye, that sums it up," Stannis said, getting up from his chair. Moving back toward the door, he put his hand on the handle. "I'll be back the same time tomorrow for your answer." Promptly, he exited.

Tyene sighed, covering her face with her hands. Small tears peeking out of her eyes. Though she wiped them away, taking a deep breath. Die in the blacks cells, or be his Queen. For many women, it would be an easy choice. Never in a thousand years would she guess she'd be in this situation.

The question she had for herself was: If she married Stannis, would she be betraying everything and everyone she ever fought for?

Was this supposed to humiliate her? To shame her in acting like a common, besotted maiden? Pacing back and forth, nervously tapping her foot on the stone floor as she waited for her lover to make his way to her bed. Daenerys knew she should - no maiden was she, married twice and having taken a lover in the meantime, in spite of her relative youth the Dragon Queen was much too experienced with sex and matters of the heart to act this way.

And yet, sitting upon the bed in a huff, Daenerys worried that she wasn't ashamed at her conduct. It felt right to be desirous of her new lover. To yearn for his touch and presence. A smile crossed her face at the thought of it.

"Love. Even I, a Queen and the Last Dragon, have found it." It filled her heart with warmth.

Missandei and the other maidservants left the bedchamber in a toasty, pleasant state. A fire burned in the hearth while the shutters on the windows were closed to keep out the chilly nighttime air. A flagon of wine and chilled water served if they got thirsty in the night, while a bowl of fruit would ward off hunger if they so needed. As for her appearance, she had stripped out of her dress and was in but a slip, hair falling freely about her shoulders.

Not as blatant as being nude, but enough to dispense with the pleasantries and inform Jon Stark exactly what she meant for him that night.

After what they endured since their last assignation, Daenerys was certain he needed it as much as she. While they had quarreled publicly and privately lately, meeting at night was something they could both agree on.

Finally, at long last, there was a knock at the door. Dany nearly jumped at hearing it, but composed herself. Jon may have been her lover, but she was still a Queen. Opening the door, she grinned as he slipped in quickly and quietly, only making a noise when the door was shut. "Hope I didn't keep you waiting too long."

Taking him in, Dany liked what she saw. A simple grey tunic that matched his eyes and a pair of black trousers. Nothing fancy, which she greatly appreciated. "You've kept me waiting pretty much the entire time we've known each other, Jon Stark." Without further delay, she pulled him down for a kiss.

The kiss started sweetly but grew in ardor until Jon was forced to break for air. "You look beautiful, Daenerys."

She swooned. "You don't look quite unpleasant yourself." Another kiss, this one making her moan. "Gods, I wished I could've thrown you down on the painted table and had you." Jon deepened the kiss, and there they stood for the longest time, simply lost in each other.

Eventually, though, he had to pull back. "Dany…" Mirth glittered in his eyes. "I must be honest, in all the places I imagined us… enjoying." The innuendo wasn't particularly subtle. "The Painted Table wasn't one of them, though I would be quite remiss if I didn't add it to the list."

Daenerys grinned, hands gliding over his chest and shoulders possessively. "I should've known you were a lecher underneath all that honor." Dany pecked his lips again. "Perhaps later I should make such a fantasy come true, for it is one of mine as well." Her eyes sparkled. "But these kisses… being in my bedchamber… I need this simple intimacy." Hugging him, Daenerys was comforted by his heartbeat. "I need them to counter the difficult conversations we must face throughout our day, for our nights seem so far apart."

"Simple, carefree lives we cannot have. Our blood sets us for great things but carries duties that chain us." Jon kissed her forehead. "Only makes these moments even more special."

Nodding, Daenerys cupped his cheek. "We can talk later, Stark. Just kiss me again." A much more pleasant use of his mouth, undoubtedly. Jon Stark's words could drive her to the greatest of anger - his kisses… nothing but a moan of delight.

The lack of guards… or the repositioning of guards to more distant strategic positions protecting the royal apartments provided them privacy. Yet it also allowed for ignorance among the Dothraki bloodriders that took watch that night. The Imp was allowed through given his status as a senior advisor to the Khaleesi, albeit with some murmured japes in the Dothraki tongue that drew chuckles and confused Tyrion. If there was some new dwarf joke only the horsemen told, he would've liked to add it to his collection.

Hearing the same thing from Cersei, Joffrey, or Naharis had gotten old long before their respective deaths.

Only a moment was spared for such, though, much too much on his mind for anything else. Cannot risk Jaime's life to Jon Snow. The Bastard of Winterfell, someone armored to the world yet still beaten down to it, that person would've been acceptable to guardian Jaime. Grudgingly acceptable but acceptable nonetheless if a sworn lord to her Grace… but the unusual and suspicious arrangement of a Stannis-sworn supposed neutral arbiter of peace was but aside concern for the Imp.

No, rather his worries were for a simple reason. Jon Snow was… different. Changed from even when he was a prisoner in the dungeons. Tyrion couldn't always recognize Ned Stark in him - truly the person Jon reminded him most of was his own father, Tywin. A man with an agenda, without easily discernible loyalties. And that truly scared him. Both as Daenerys' advisor and as Jaime's brother.

Unable to corner Daenerys during daylight hours, he made sure to be able and find her alone tonight to plead his case. Perhaps she would be more amenable…

"Oh… feels wonderful… kessa…"

Tyrion stopped in his tracks. The voice was muffled but it came from Daenerys' chambers. His Valyrian was still spotty, but well enough for a rough translation of word and tone. Is she… pleasuring herself? The urge was understandable for someone with so many stresses, and since Naharis' death, there were no suitable candidates to be her lover…

"Oh, please… Jon."

"I've thought of little else today."

Eyes widening, he immediately pressed his ear to the door. No, it couldn't be…

Tyrion did not need to hear any more. Sounds of pleasure from two different throats, it was obvious what was going on. Turning, he scrambled away, heading for the one person he knew he could trust with such information… and who was undoubtedly still awake this time of night.

Unlike the Queen's chambers, that of Lord Varys was unguarded so Tyrion found it simple to just barge in. Hunched over his desk, quill in hand, Varys looked up with that damned calm expression planted on his face. "Lord Tyrion. I didn't expect you so late… here for another welcome chat?" Truthfully, he missed his verbal spars with Littlefinger. Ser Barristan was too dour and Missandei didn't like to waste time, so the Imp was his only choice. "Please, sit."

Taking the proffered seat, Tyrion poured himself a goblet and drank it in one gulp - pouring another in quick succession. "Say nothing to me," he told Varys. "You'd drink too if you heard what I heard."

"And what is it that you believe escaped my net?" Varys asked with a tinge of amusement.

Grimacing, Tyrion couldn't help but shudder a bit. "Jon Snow in our Queen's bed. Engaging in the same activities that she had with Naharis, though I am certain they were never so… torrid together." He could see it now. Putting together the looks she sent him, the body language he gave off when near her. Even their arguments - lovers' quarrels. Worse than anything between enemies.

Varys tucked his lips together. "Ah, so this wasn't simply a one-time thing."

Tyrion gasped, eyes wide. "You knew?"

"Of course," Varys said, frowning. "I know everything. Especially something that happens within this castle."

Tyrion rolled his eyes, "Oh, the handmaids."

"Yes, the handmaids." The eunuch stared at Tyrion as if he were an idiot.

"Seven-fucking-hells," Tyrion said. "How long have you known?"

A shrug. "Since the first time, Jon Stark visited her during the night."

"Wait, the first? Was the first night not recent?"

"Unless you consider recent to be the first day of his arrival, then no," Varys replied. Tyrion nodded slowly, closing his eyes for a few moments. "I suspect you'd like to know why I never said anything?"

"I would love to know, yes," Tyrion sighed.

"It's not ideal, given the situation with Stannis. However, my examination of the relationship doesn't seem to be damaging, as of yet."

"I think it's damaging," Tyrion said, raising his voice. "He can't be in bed with Daenerys and Stannis."

"Well-"

Tyrion waved both his hands to interrupt, "You know what I bloody well mean. I'm just flabbergasted that your reaction isn't similar to mine."

"I don't see an issue with Daenerys enjoying the company of a man."

"She did the same thing with Daario. Do you remember how that turned out?"

"Jon Stark is not Daario Naharis. Far from it."

"I'm talking about the relationship. Not the man."

"Well, I can tell you for certain, Daenerys' attachment to Jon Stark is far greater than Daario Naharis," Varys said. "That much is clear."

"Yes, I don't suspect she would've listened to Daario over me in relation to my brother's custody," Tyrion agreed, brushing his hand over his face.

"In that situation, I don't know why you expected our Queen to hand you over a man she hates," Varys sighed. "If Jon Stark had not been there, your brother likely would've already been dead."

"What?"

"What reason does Daenerys have to let the man that murdered her father live? The man that ended the Targaryen reign, sending her life into turmoil?"

"Because he's changed, he's not that man anymore."

"You expected Daenerys to see that? Really?" Varys half-laughed. "If he served some use to her, it was possible she might've spared him."

Tyrion raised a finger with his mouth wide open. Clearly, he planned on making a retort. However, nothing but dead air came out of his mouth. His hand dropped, a stern frown appeared on his face. He seethed, "She might've burned my brother."

"Yes, I thought it was possible," Varys said.

"My brother, Varys. My own brother. My flesh and blood."

For once, the eunuch flashed a bit of irritation. "Tyrion, your brother's bed was made when he killed Aerys." That shut Tyrion up. "I cannot truly pass judgment on him since I was front and center for most of the King's atrocities, but Jaime knew what he was doing when he did the deed. I feel he always did regarding the dishonorable actions he committed."

"He's still my brother, Varys. I do not trust him with Jon Snow."

"Clearly, Tyrion, Jon Stark is the only person keeping your brother from rotting in another cell at the very least." He emphasized the lad's true title. "Jaime's fate is in his hands, which is why I advise you not to antagonize him until I find out why he accepted Jaime into his care."

The Imp scoffed. "To take him back to his sisters, I presume. Justice for Ned Stark."

"Possible," Varys conceded. "However Cersei's death could be vengeance enough. More likely this is some manner to impress our Queen… especially after our simultaneous revelations."

"That is what scares me the most." Tyrion sipped his wine, praying for the bliss of drunkenness. "He could be telling her anything. Convincing her of anything," Tyrion said, slipping off the chair. He began to pace around.

"I suppose after some lovemaking… She could be more susceptible to different ideas," Varys relented.

"Yes! Exactly. Susceptible. The real question is, what do we do now?"

"Nothing."

Tyrion froze, "Nothing? You just said she was susceptible to different ideas. Which I should remind you, could be ideas Stannis has told Jon to implant." Then his eyes widened, "You know… You know I'd be willing to bet that this whole thing is a ruse. Stannis sent him here to get close to Daenerys and undermine her from the inside. I bet those ravens he's sending to King's Landing are all about all this information he's learning about us."

"There's no evidence to support that, Tyrion."

"What if there was evidence?"

"Then perhaps we do something."

"It should be stopped purely on the grounds of the relationship existing," Tyrion scoffed.

Varys exhaled, "Well, perhaps, we wait and see. I'll keep a close eye on the situation. See if anything turns up bad. If something happens that I feel makes the relationship dangerous, we can break it up."

"No, it's not enough. But it is enough for right now," Tyrion said. "Should we let everyone know?"

"You think Missandei doesn't already know? Or at the very least suspects?"

"You're probably right," Tyrion blinked. "I may ask her about it. What about Barristan?"

"Let's wait on that. He may do something… rash."

Tyrion chuckled, "You think he'd draw swords immediately?"

"Oh, yes."

Tyrion slipped out of his seat, sighing heavily. "Seven Hells, I need to sleep."

Varys pursed his lips, "Think you actually can?"

"Probably not. Regardless, I'm leaving."

"Do have fun, Lord Tyrion," Varys said, waving goodbye.

"Fuck off, Spider," Tyrion said. Barely picking feet up as he left the room.

A/N: Bruh: Sometimes I forget how weird we've made Bran. But I think it fits better than, "Why do you think I came all this way?" Bran. They are up to something. Yes, they are warg into people. But why Podrick, I wonder?

Arya's back in WF. Tyrion and Varys know about all the Jonerys lovemaking. Tyene has a pretty big decision to make. That about sums it up.

We're currently on a pretty good flow with writing these.

See you again down the road.

Longclaw: The Jonerys is heating up. They're pretty much solidly a couple... trouble is, Dany's council now knows.

Arya comes back to a more dangerous situation than she left.

Until next time! Please comment on the huge new developments. We're gonna try and get this out sooner and the more comments we get the more motivated we will be.